


writing to reach you

by ohanashi



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohanashi/pseuds/ohanashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the KMM prompt: Arthur leaves an anonymous letter/note in Merlin's locker telling him how beautiful he is. Merlin was going to kill himself but this stops him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	writing to reach you

**Author's Note:**

> Read the [original post on the meme](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/17048.html?thread=16011928#t16011928).

**writing to reach you**

i. 

They’re thirteen and sit beside each other in math class. Arthur barely pays Merlin the slightest of attention, too distracted by the circle of friends seated to his left. It’s a pencil, of all things, that makes Arthur turn around their last day of class – a smile and question of “got a spare, mate?” ready for the first person he sees.

Merlin’s lips quirk, mouth clearly opening to chastise when the teacher walks in and calls the class to attention. 

Merlin finishes the test long before Arthur. When Arthur glances up and catches his eye, mouths “what about-?” and waggles the pencil, Merlin just grins and waves before ducking out of the room.

Arthur can never quite shake Merlin from his thoughts, after.

 

ii.

“Arthur, you have to make it stop.” Gwen sets her hands firmly on the cafeteria table, eyes imploring as she stares down at Arthur. They’ve known each other since birth; Gwen used to weave Arthur crowns of wild flowers, and she’d flush brilliantly whenever Arthur dropped to his knees and bestow one upon her.

She’s always had an uncanny faith in him. Or maybe Gwen just knows how powerless Arthur is, when it comes to refusing her.

“Stop what, my dear?” Arthur replies, leaning back in his chair and grinning up at her. Gwen twists her mouth and gives him a light punch to the arm, only to withdraw her hand hastily when Arthur’s friends start laughing.

“It’s that boy in my history class, Merlin,” she hisses, stooping over the table so only Arthur can hear. “Some of the boys on the football team – they’re at him again. The usual. _Arthur_ ,” Gwen repeats, smile falling, “they’ll listen to you.”

“You should go the headmaster,” replies Arthur in a low tone, sliding his arm across the table and clasping Gwen’s hand. 

She’s flustered. Presses her free hand to her mouth, blinking her eyes furiously. “I know, Arthur. I know it’s just – I’m worried. About him. He hasn’t, lately it’s just -”

Arthur is standing before Gwen can say another word. His friends barely glance up as Arthur leads them to a more secluded hallway – trying to ignore the tears cresting in Gwen’s eyes.

 

iii.

Arthur wants to help Gwen. He really, truly does. But her trust is misplaced and Arthur can’t speak up – can’t tell Gwen he’s too afraid to draw attention to himself.

Of course he knows what the other boys say to Merlin – say about Merlin. Gwen needn’t repeat it when Arthur has heard it with his own ears. And he’s seen the way Merlin is folding in on himself, too; tired eyes and hollow smiles, seeming anxious when Arthur catches him chatting at Gwen’s locker.

They’re not friends. They’re barely even acquaintances – but Arthur has been watching Merlin for two years now. Knows how brilliant his smiles can be, or how his laugh makes something curl in the pit of Arthur’s stomach.

But the next day, standing at Merlin’s locker with a note that says as much, Arthur feels his cheeks burn with shame. He curls his fist around the paper until it’s nothing more than an inconspicuous ball, and tosses it in the first litterbin he passes.

 

iv.

It takes Arthur a month to gather his courage. There are drafts overflowing from a folder shoved in the top drawer of his desk, all of varying lengths and honesty. He settles for short and simple, a plain piece of notepaper slipped through the locker slats on the last day before Christmas holidays.

 

_M,_

_I don’t care what the others say. You’re the most beautiful person in the world to me._

_A._


End file.
